Morning Madness
by teenage-dirtbag
Summary: Mark Sloan was nice. And unusually polite. Of course something was up. The question was, what? Or possibly, who?


**A/N:** Was it just me or did you sense something between Mark and Lexie in the previous episode? I absolutely loved it, so I wrote this one-shot until the writers decide to write that pairing into the series (or maybe they have!)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Grey's Anatomy!

**Morning Madness**

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It was difficult to ignore his arrogant swagger; every nurse in the vicinity either scowled or batted their eyelashes at him, almost all however, had to hold on to something for the fear of their knees giving in. Yes, Mark Sloan did merit the label McSteamy, but there was something about him today that made him seem to encompass that. His gaze was lustful and his smile lustrous. A young temp ran to his direction before being tripped by an older nurse, knowing what became of his exploits. Mark approached the nurse's station where Derek was looking through some charts; the nurse attending to the place quickly hid behind another game of minesweeper.

"Good morning, Derek," Mark greeted, smiling widely.

Derek furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Good morning," then, he added tentatively, "Mark."

"Hi, can you hand me the files for Mrs. Johnson, please?" Mark instructed the nurse, who, in shock, had blown her minesweeper game. She made careful steps not to look at his eyes; rumour around the surgical floor was that his eyes were what did you in. She handed the charts to him, her head bent down. "Thanks." Derek glanced at the petrified nurse and motioned for Mark to walk with him.

"That's it?" he asked.

"Why, is there supposed to be more?" Mark answered, looking through the files of the 54 year old woman who wanted breast implants for her 20 year old lover.

"You weren't rude," Derek pointed out, "or flirting," Derek looked at him, wide-eyed. "You had sex with Hahn last night!"

"Please," Mark brushed off, "I'd never hit, or maybe," he faltered, choosing his words. "Let's just say I'm not her type. Besides, you were the one who urged me to be less obnoxious!"

"Yeah. And since when did you ever listen to me?"

"I listen to you," Mark grumbled. He spotted George a couple of feet away, talking with some of the interns. His eyes were wide open, and a joke concerning deer and headlights began to form in his mind. He opened his mouth to say something but quickly chose not to, while Derek eyed him strangely. "O'Malley!" he called out, raising his folders.

"Y-yes, Dr. Sloan?" George asked, nervous.

"Enjoy the last glory days of your internship and a light workload. Run labs for Mrs. Johnson and make sure she won't have a cardiac arrest when I grant her the science-given gift of fake silicone breasts!" Mark said, his tone amused, his mouth curled into a smile. George had to blink at him for a few seconds before mumbling a yes. "If you finish before 11, I'll let you scrub in with me!" he called out after, to which George just nodded, stunned at the turn of events.

"Are you drunk?" Derek asked, inspecting Mark's head. "Did you have a concussion?"

"You just moved in with Meredith," Mark reasoned out, "can't I be happy for my best friend?"

"No!" Derek replied. "You're cynical and condescending. You're the one who's supposed to tell me to move back into my trailer and drink more scotch with you at Joe's while trying to seduce the hot interns."

"Derek—"

"Mark, seriously, what is up?"

"Dr. Sloan," someone interrupted, and both of the attendings turned to see the small frame of Lexie Grey poking at his white coat. "I just remembered, I read an article about you when I was at Harvard. I saw a picture of my friends, then the next thing I knew, I was remembering, it's a strange thing, having a photographic memory," Derek stared at her blankly, Mark stared in fascination. "Anyway, as I said, the Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery Journal, volume 83, wrote an article about you, and it was funny, because they said that you were Michelangelo and every single one of your patients was your David, though I would prefer them to be the Sistine Chapel since that's much more intricate, but that's beside the point."

"How do you do that?" Mark asked, genuinely curious, and Derek continued to stare, piecing everything together.

"I'm sorry, I don't really know, I," upon seeing Derek's berating stare, she smiled and continued, "That woman you're treating, Mrs. Johnson, was the third wife of Dr. Ralph Keaton, the person who wrote that article. It was really sad, how they broke up, she put too much Botox and when he told her he was leaving; he took her unresponsiveness as a sign. He didn't know she just had her face Botoxed."

"Huh," Mark said, and Lexie nodded at him. Her pager went off.

"Dr. Yang wants me stitching," she looked at them, unsure how she would leave and what she would say. "Goodbye," she settled, and shuffled out of the area. Mark still had that faraway look in his eyes. Derek hit him with his arm.

"What?"

"You like her," Derek said.

"She's your girlfriend's half-sister," Mark explained, "I _have_ to like her."

"No," Derek walked away, laughing. He turned around. "You like her!"

Mark frowned. He then uttered the words that got him in this predicament in the first place. "Shut up."

"I guess we _will _be brothers after all," Derek taunted, walking briskly into the elevator before Mark could catch up. The doors closed before Mark could press the button, and he sighed. Knowing there was nothing he could do now; he returned to the nurse's station and put on his most charming smile.

"Page Lexie Grey, will you?" he told the minesweeper nurse, "I'm going to need an intern for pre-op."

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